


love-shaped

by andnowforyaya



Series: rigged universe [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: BDSM, Caning, Deepthroating, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), gagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:26:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26184169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: “You didn’t answer me, kitty cat,” Kun teases. “And you let the air conditioning out.”“What are you gonna do about it, Sir?”
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun
Series: rigged universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901413
Comments: 43
Kudos: 289





	love-shaped

Kun wakes up sticky with sweat, his skin tacky where it has dried, a discontented grumble unintelligible on his lips. Ten’s side of the bed is empty and lukewarm, the sheets still pulled back and rumpled, and their bedroom window is wide open, the curtains drawn and rustling slightly in the weak summer breeze that crawls in through the opening. A fly buzzes in the corner of their ceiling, knocking itself against the walls.

Beyond the window sill and out on their rusty fire escape, Kun spots the blurry outline of what could be Ten’s calf. He sits up, squinting, running a hand through his hair as he locates his glasses and his phone on the bedside table, pulling the glasses onto the bridge of his nose and checking the time on his phone. Not even 7 yet. 

“Ten?” he calls out, voice scratchy.

“Yeah?” Ten’s head pokes through the window, then his shoulders, his torso, and finally the rest of his body as he climbs back into their bedroom with the grace of a cat. He’s wearing what he went to bed in last night, a thin tank and boxers, and his bare skin seems to have soaked up the tepid glow of the morning sun and reflects the light to Kun tenfold. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Ten says, sliding back into bed and right into Kun’s arms with a heavy sigh. His skin is slightly damp. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

“About?”

“Today,” Ten says. His mouth hovers just below Kun’s ear as he sinks against Kun’s chest, straddling Kun like Kun is a part of the furniture. That won’t do.

Kun cups his hands over the plush rounds of Ten’s ass and begins to dig the tips of his fingers into the muscle, pressing down as though he were at a piano and playing the black and white keys. “Good thoughts?” he whispers huskily as Ten’s hot, wet exhalation in response at being handled slides across his neck.

“Kun, I’ve got to get ready,” Ten whines, high and breathy already, even as his hips push _down_. 

Kun chuckles, squeezing Ten’s ass and encouraging Ten to rut lazily against him. Ten can be so easy in the mornings, lovely and soft, and as malleable as putty. Even though he's probably still preoccupied with the thoughts that brought him out onto their fire escape, he winds his arms behind Kun’s neck and spreads his legs wider.

“You didn’t answer me, kitty cat,” Kun teases. “And you let the air conditioning out.”

“What are you gonna do about it, _Sir_?”

The title is dropped playfully, and Ten lifts his darkly glittering gaze, resting his chin on Kun’s sternum as he meets his eyes. They share a mischievous smile with each other. Then Kun rolls his hips up and pulls Ten into him, pushing up against him in a slow grind, and Ten’s eyelids flutter when his eyes roll back into his head. Ten's mouth drops open in a pant as his back arches, and Kun admires the elegant slope that connects his shoulder to his neck, the delicate curve of his spine, as arousal builds low in his belly. 

“Maybe I’ll teach you a lesson,” Kun growls.

A hitch in Ten’s breathing. A whine. 

Then his face plants into Kun’s chest with a disappointed groan. “Kun, I want to play,” Ten says, his voice muffled by Kun’s shirt, “but I _really_ need to get ready.”

Kun’s brain, still not fully activated, takes a moment to process Ten’s words to override the blood flow to his dick. “Oh,” Kun says, hoping he was able to keep the petulance out of his tone. He slides his hands higher, up around Ten’s waist and right under his ribs. “Alright. Do you need any help?”

Ten looks up at him again. “You wanna pick out my clothes like it’s the first day of school?” 

“Only if _you_ want that.”

Pink blooms across Ten’s cheeks like spring blossoms. “Actually…” Ten tilts his head, chewing on his lip, expression thoughtful. “Would you? I have some ideas, but if you could help me decide…?”

Kun nods with a smile. Of course, he’s more than happy to help Ten with whatever he needs, and Kun knows that sometimes being able to wear an outfit Kun has decided on _for_ him just gives Ten one less thing he needs to worry about. Sometimes, it helps him settle better into his skin. “I’d love to. But that means if I pick something super slutty, you’ll have to wear it.”

Ten laughs, the sound bright yet soft, like sunlight flashing between a canopy of leaves. “You say that like it’ll be a problem for me.”

.

Kun dresses Ten in a flowery, short-sleeved shirt with the buttons done up and crisp blue chinos rolled at the ankles, and when Ten brings an assortment of silver and black studs and hoops and one tiny skull to him cupped in his palms, he approves of Ten’s choices for the day, before deciding to add something special. 

“Wear this, too,” Kun says, plucking a silver choker from Ten’s display of jewelry on top of their dresser. The choker is a solid hoop, hinged down the middle to take it on and off, but once on, it sits as an endless ring around the wearer’s neck. 

Ten’s eyes go dark with anticipation, with want. He is not allowed to wear the necklace unless Kun puts it on him. “Oh.” He licks his lips and turns so that his back faces Kun’s front, and says, “Yes, please.”

The metal seems to hum in Kun’s hand as he circles it around Ten’s neck. The accessory sits just under the neckline of Ten’s shirt, hidden. Kun runs his finger under the cool metal band, the way he would check the tension if it were a leather collar, and relishes the shiver that travels up Ten’s spine. “So beautiful,” Kun whispers. “And perfect, and mine. You’ll be just fine today, Ten.”

Ten spins slowly and catches Kun with his arms around his waist, rises onto his toes to kiss him with a warm smile. “Thank you. I will be.”

At the bar separating their kitchen from their living room, they share a light breakfast of buttered toast smeared with homemade summer berry jam and two shots of frothy espresso, before Kun sends Ten off with more kisses and a reminder to stop by Chelsea Market to bring home some treats since he’ll be in the area to meet with a new client.

When Ten is gone, Kun turns some music on to fill the silence, and it’s to the thumping melodies of the Beastie Boys and the smooth, soothing rap of Jay Chou that he gets ready for his day, humming along as he shaves carefully in front of the bathroom mirror, as he brushes his teeth, as he fixes his hair. When he’s ready, he heads out into the city and towards his office feeling fresh and wholly rejuvenated. 

His workday is a rush of meetings, coffee, conference calls, and negotiating deadlines and budgets. For Kun, this is the kind of day he likes: fast-paced, urgent, and decisive. But it makes the hours fly by quickly, and by the time the day is over, Kun can barely recall that he went to lunch with his coworker Doyoung, the experience is so far from Kun’s mind. He remembers that he’d texted Ten around that time but hasn’t really checked his personal phone since, and as Ten hadn’t immediately responded Kun had assumed his meeting with his new client was running long.

He checks his phone now as he readies his bag to leave his office and feels his heart drop suddenly at the message waiting for him on his screen. 

_Kun, I need to talk to you,_ Ten has sent. _I’ll wait for you at home._

.

It takes forever to get home. The trains are overcrowded, and Kun has to wait on the platform for two packed ones to clear the station, the wheels screeching against the railing, before the third train that arrives finally has room for him. He texts Ten as he waits— _I’m sorry I didn’t see this earlier. I’m coming now. Are you okay? Are you safe?_ —and lets out the breath he was holding when Ten sends back: _Yes. I’m okay. I’m safe. Please don’t rush._

 _I love you_ , Kun reminds him and thinks he should call him so that Ten can hear the words aloud, but then the train finally rolls forward and into a tunnel, and he loses service, and he’s left to wonder what it is that Ten needs from him. 

He feels assured that Ten is safe—Ten wouldn’t lie about that—but it’s strange that Ten hasn’t told him what he wants to talk about specifically. They don’t often keep things like that from each other, not anymore, and especially not after their experience playing with ginger. 

After _that_ particular punishment, Ten promised Kun that he’d take better care of himself, and part of that promise meant better communication about his wants and needs, no matter how big or small. It makes Kun think that whatever Ten wants to talk about now is complicated and serious enough that Ten doesn’t know how to write it out in words, or that the words just aren’t coming.

He thanks his fitness routine for his endurance when he reaches his stop and sprints up the stairs, out of the station, and lightly jogs across the streets to their apartment building, shortening what is normally a 10-minute walk to a 6-minute obstacle course. He receives Ten’s text halfway through when his phone has signal again: _I love you, too._

Shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back with sweat and his neck slick from perspiration, Kun lets himself into the building and is blasted by cool air. He forgoes his usual trip to the mailroom and heads straight to the elevator, stepping inside of it and impatiently tapping the toe of his shoe against the sleek floors as the car rises at the pace of creeping, thick molasses. When the elevator comes to a stop, he bursts out from between the opening doors and strides down the hall to their unit.

Once inside their apartment, he immediately spots Ten sitting on the couch, and Ten turns with a sharp, twitching motion when the door clicks shut behind Kun, as Kun steps out of his shoes. 

“Hey, Kun,” Ten greets, his voice small and quiet and slightly watery. His eyes are glistening and his cheeks are flushed, blonde hair damp and mussed around his face. He’s changed already, into one of Kun’s old band shirts, the collar so ruined it is more holes than fabric, the band’s name so faded even Kun can’t remember where or when he bought it. He just knows it’s old, and familiar, and soft as a cloud.

Kun notices that Ten's taken the collar necklace off without Kun’s permission, but Kun decides not to ask about this, not when Ten is looking at him with haunted eyes.

Kun drops his bag unceremoniously to the floor as he hurriedly makes his way over to him. “Kitten, what happened?” 

No sooner does he sink down onto the couch beside Ten than Ten, with surprising agility and speed, clotheslines him into the cushions and plasters himself to Kun’s side like a koala to a tree. Ten holds him so tightly that Kun can actually feel the breath being squeezed from his lungs. 

“Oof, baby, that’s—”

“Sorry,” Ten mumbles somewhere near the vicinity of Kun’s armpit. “Need this. Please.”

“Whatever you need,” Kun agrees readily, his arm coming to curve around Ten’s shoulders. He notices how Ten’s fingers curl into his shirt over his chest, tight and desperate like Kun is a lifeline while Ten is being carried in a thundering river downstream. Carefully, Kun takes hold of Ten’s hand, replacing his shirt with his fingers, bringing Ten’s hand up so that he can brush his lips over Ten’s white knuckles. “Remember to exhale,” he encourages.

Ten breathes out, and then in again. His next breath trembles, fragile and thin. “Sorry,” Ten whimpers again, curling in on himself. “I just—today was unexpected—”

“Feel what you need to feel, sweetheart,” Kun says with a heart that is slowly breaking in his chest. “I’m here in whatever way you need me.”

It’s hard for Kun to wait. To accept that all he can do is be a soft place to land sometimes. And after the day Kun’s had, his brain has gotten used to isolating the problem, identifying the solution, and executing it, so the lack of movement has his mind racing. What happened to Ten today? Was the new client an asshole? Did Ten see something that upset him? Was he treated poorly? Did he fall or accidentally break something over lunch, embarrassing himself to the point that he could never go back to that establishment again? 

Ten isn’t even crying. Not that Kun wants or expects Ten to cry, but the lack of tears speaks to something that might be worse: numbness. 

Feelings themselves are never the problem; they are the artifacts or symptoms of a root cause. An experience. An interaction. A thought. Which brings Kun back to his questions. 

“Can we eat first?” Ten asks.

“I could fix us something quick,” Kun offers quickly, starting to push himself up onto his elbows as he takes mental stock of what he knows is in their pantry and refrigerator, but Ten’s arm remains firm over his chest.

“I bought Buddakan,” he says. 

“You didn’t have to do that. That place is so expensive for what it is—”

“ _Kun_ ,” Ten pleads quietly, and even though his voice is thin as a reed, Kun reels at the heaviness behind it. “It’s in the kitchen. Let’s just…” 

Ten trails off and doesn’t finish, and Kun wishes that he could pull out the thoughts crowding Ten’s mind like thread from a spool, that he could untangle and unwind them for him, but he knows Ten can do it for himself. He just needs time. So instead, he pulls Ten up with him as he rises and kisses him gently on the temple, his palm resting against the small of Ten’s back. 

“Okay,” Kun says. “Okay, let’s eat.”

.

They end up back on the couch, small take-away containers spread out before them on the coffee table, with Ten squashed into the corner where the couch’s arm meets the back and his legs thrown over Kun’s lap. Ten has decided not to lift a finger for the whole meal, humming contentedly as Kun uses his chopsticks to feed him perfectly bite-sized dumplings out of the container balanced on Ten’s thighs.

One for Ten, and one for Kun. Two for Ten, and two for Kun. When the first container is finished, they move onto the second, and when that one is finished, Ten lays his cheek against Kun’s shoulder, folds his hands over his belly, and declares himself too stuffed to eat another bite.

“You can have a little more,” Kun coaxes, eyeing the containers that remain and thinking he could polish off another box of them all by himself. He puts the chopsticks down and drags one plastic box closer to the edge of the table by the lip. Pinching a dumpling—shrimp, pea shoots, water chestnut—between his fingers, he draws it up and dangles it before the closed seam of Ten’s lips. “Open up, baby.”

Ten tucks his chin closer to his chest wearing a full pout, but then his nostrils flare and he opens his mouth obediently to allow Kun to push the whole dumpling inside. The pad of Kun’s thumb catches on Ten’s bottom lip on the way out. 

“Good boy,” Kun coos before sucking the leftover fragrant grease from his fingers.

“Mmhrmph,” Ten whines, cheeks full, chewing.

“One more?”

Ten shakes his head as he swallows. “I’m full,” he states stubbornly.

Kun hums in thought. “Then I’ll finish this, and you can tell me about what’s bothering you,” he says, and Ten tightens up in Kun’s arms like a millipede that curls into a ball when poked. 

Eating was a welcome distraction, but Kun can tell whatever happened today is still weighing on Ten’s mind in Ten’s fluttering, diminished smiles and dull, dark eyes. 

“Hey, I love you,” he reassures Ten while drawing circles with his finger over Ten’s side. “We face what’s bothering you together.”

And then he waits. 

He takes up the container of dumplings and gracelessly eats them with his fingers, giving Ten the space to organize his thoughts to attempt to get them out. Perhaps a decade ago, when Kun was just starting to come into his own as a young professional, he would have become frustrated by the long, buzzing silence while awaiting Ten’s answer, but he now knows what it means to Ten that Kun tries never to hurry or to rush him. Kun has always been observant and intuitive, and he likes to think that his relationship with Ten has taught him to be more patient and compassionate, too. 

After Kun finishes three more dumplings, Ten shifts his knees over Kun’s lap, making a seat out of Kun’s body and signaling he's ready to talk.

Ten says, “Remember Byunghwan?”

Kun’s blood goes cold. He puts the container to the side.

Byunghwan was the name Ten would call out in the midst of a nightmare back when they first started sleeping together. 

Or they would be walking in the park under an archway, licking at their ice creams, and Ten would say, “Byunghwan never let me have ice cream.”

Or they would be watching a movie on Kun’s couch, huddled together under a shared blanket, and Ten would ask, “Do I have permission to run to the restroom? I’ll be quick.”

Ten used to be hesitant to talk about him when Kun asked, but as their careful courting deepened into a relationship, Ten shared, albeit in bits and pieces and always sprinkled into the conversation with the levity of more innocuous topics, like the weather, or the meal they were enjoying together.

So Kun put the pieces together. And the portrait he compiled of Byunghwan was that he was a controlling, jealous, and manipulative man who took advantage of Ten’s trust in him. He was in Ten’s nightmares for a reason.

“I remember Byunghwan. What about him?” he asks, circling his arms loosely low around Ten’s waist.

“I saw him.”

A spike of adrenaline flashes through Kun’s body, but he keeps very still. “You did? Did he see you?” 

Ten nods. “We spoke.”

“He _spoke_ to you?” Kun hisses, hackles rising, indignant on Ten’s behalf. “That mother—”

“He apologized to me,” Ten continues, twisting the fabric of Kun’s shirt between clenched fingers. Kun goes silent like a flame being snuffed out. “I was just getting coffee in a random cafe after meeting with my client. I sat down. He came over. He had noticed me in line. He said he’s been working on himself and that he wanted to say sorry for all the ways he hurt me.”

“He had no right to do that, Ten.”

“But he just sat down across from me with his head down and he kept apologizing for—for so many things. All the hurt. All the abuse. And I didn’t know what to do.”

Kun cups Ten’s cheek in his palm and tilts his face up gently so that he can kiss the wrinkle that has formed between Ten’s eyebrows, and Ten sighs, the sound worn and frayed, and slumps against his shoulder. 

“It wasn’t fair of him to just lay that on you like that. How were you feeling?” Kun asks. “What happened next?”

Ten shudders, and it reminds Kun of the shaking of leaves in the wind just before a storm. The clouds gathering, swirling.

“I thanked him for apologizing and I left,” Ten says breathlessly, as though he's been running from the events of the day and they've now finally caught up to him. His chest heaves, and air wheezes through his throat as he stares at Kun with wide eyes full of shock and guilt. “I panicked. I _thanked_ him. God, I’m so stupid. What the hell is wrong with me? _Thanking_ him?”

Ten’s face strips of color, the blood draining from his cheeks as he crumples like tissue paper under Kun’s hands. 

So Kun pulls Ten onto his lap fully and presses kisses to his forehead, his temple, and lips. Hands holding Ten’s hands, Kun says, “You are not stupid. There is nothing wrong with you. He put you in an unfair, uncomfortable, unsafe position and you left. I’m glad you left.”

“What if he thinks I accept his apology? What if he thinks it’s okay, what he did?”

Kun can see the hurt and confusion swirling in the dark whirlpools of Ten’s eyes, and his heart compresses painfully when he thinks about Ten facing all that alone. Sitting for hours in their apartment after. Alone. 

“If he came to you like that, he knows what he did to you while you were together was not okay. But it also tells me he still has a lot to learn and atone for. Kitten, I’m so sorry this happened today.”

Ten sniffles, his voice is thick when he says, “It was a good meeting, too, with the client. But now all I can think about is him. His apology…” 

The storm breaks, and it looks like a mudslide. It looks like layers and layers of filth sloughing down a cliff face and destroying everything in its path. It looks like Ten’s eyes filling with tears that spill down his cheeks. And when Ten throws himself into Kun’s chest, Kun is ready to receive him there, hand cupped behind his head and cradling him against his heart. 

“Oh, Kun,” Ten cries, “he’s actually _trying_. But he never tried with me. Why did he do those things to me? Why did I let him?”

Kun does everything he can to hold his heart together, to keep it from breaking, even though it’s like everything Ten is feeling is bleeding into him in the places where they’re touching, skin to skin. He takes a deep, steadying breath. “Ten, no. What he did to you is not your fault, and you know that it isn’t. He abused his power over you.”

“I know…” Ten shudders and curls into a tighter ball. He’s quiet for a breath, and then three more, and then he pushes his mouth against the side of Kun’s neck and sighs, his exhalation fanning over hot skin, his fingers trailing up and playing with the small hairs behind Kun’s ear.

Ten settles. The storm has passed, for now. “I gave myself to him, not knowing. When I give myself to you, it feels different.”

“I know, kitten.”

“It feels good when I submit to you. It’s my choice. It’s what I want.”

Kun’s palm roams the curve of Ten’s hip, and his fingers fold over the narrow, sharp dip of his waist. “I know, and I feel so honored you’ve chosen me. That I get to take care of you, in whatever way you want.”

“In whatever way I want…” Ten muses aloud. A pause. They breathe. Kun kisses Ten’s forehead because that’s all he can reach for now, and he doesn’t want to move unless Ten wants to move. 

Then Ten says, “Kun, I want you to help me forget about him.”

Kun goes ripe with anticipation, a pull to Ten he can’t ignore rising in his chest like a great wave. “How so?”

“I want you to break me down to nothing and build me back up to be yours and yours alone."

And the first thing Kun thinks of is the cane. To Kun, the instrument is like an extension of his arm, and the rush he feels at the practiced precision that wielding it requires is like nothing else. They don’t use it often during scenes because of the intensity, but Ten once compared the experience to ascending to a higher plane of existence. 

“I can do that for you,” Kun says. “We can use the cane.”

Ten gasps sharply, a quick intake of breath. He looks to Kun with glimmering need in his eyes. “Tonight,” Ten says, tone lightly pleading.

“Are you sure it’s what you want? We can give it until the weekend. Think it over.”

Ten shakes his head. “No, I know what I want. I want you. I want this.”

Kun takes in the steady determination in Ten’s eyes, the resolve. “Alright,” he agrees. “Tonight.”

.

Kun weighs the wet cane between his palms in the bathroom before examining the tips closely with a practiced eye. After its soak in the water, the cane is dense yet flexible, with the kind of give that allows it to arc and whistle through the air before impact. The fibers of the rattan cane can be finicky at times, pulling apart from the core, so he inspects and trims them as needed to keep the rod intact and ready for use. He knows from personal experience how much it stings to be whipped by the needle-like fibers and would prefer not to make Ten suffer that sort of pain.

He knows exactly what kind of pain he would like to make his kitten suffer. 

Kun's heart kicks in his chest in excitement. It's been a while since he's used the cane on Ten, as it’s usually used in scenes where he’s disciplining him. The last time he’d disciplined Ten, they’d tried figging. Though their experience with figging had taught them some things about each other—mainly that Ten was a masochist but not _that_ kind of masochist—and it had been fun and new, Ten decided he'd rather stay away from things that burned.

Impact play is much more his thing. _Their_ thing.

Kun checks his appearance in the mirror, thinking back to a time in his life when dressing the part of a Dom was just as important to him as being a good one, but nowadays it's too much of a hassle to stuff himself into his tight leather pants and to wrap himself up in body chains, so a simple black shirt and the black satin shorts he often wears to sleep will have to do. He fixes his hair so that it falls neatly over his brow, and checks that his jaw is clean-shaven and smooth. It doesn't matter how he looks or what he's wearing, anyway, since Ten falls under his thumb no matter what.

He steps out of the bathroom with the cane in his hand, pausing to take in the image of Ten with his torso bent over the edge of the bed, a black towel spread underneath him. His wrists are crossed behind his back, and his ass is in the air, his feet apart on the floor. 

It is what Kun is expecting, and yet seeing Ten like this always fills him with renewed yearning. The more they come to understand and love each other, the more they want from each other. The more Kun wants to _give_ to Ten.

He is so good, Kun thinks. Waiting without a sound, breathing deeply already to keep calm, to stay calm. Kun watches the steady rise and fall of his back on top of the mattress, admires how the light glints off Ten's blond hair. 

Kun approaches the bed with measured steps, drinking in the golden expanse of Ten's skin. Ten’s black leather collar is stretched out next to him on the bed, and Kun plucks it up and leans over Ten’s prone form, threading it under the vulnerable curve of Ten’s throat, looping it around and fastening it behind his neck.

"Gorgeous, kitten," Kun says in a low voice, chuckling when Ten's shoulder blades tighten in anticipation.

"Thank you, Sir," Ten whispers. The backs of his ears turn pink with fresh blood.

"Don't take this one off until I say you can."

Ten's ears burn even brighter at the reminder of the silver collar necklace Ten took off earlier today, not thinking before he had showered. Kun had forgiven him for it after dinner, when he told him.

Kun sits on the edge of the mattress and curves his palm over the fleshy globe of Ten's ass cheek, giving it a gentle squeeze. Ten gasps, hips twitching.

"Do you remember the last time you got a caning?" Kun asks.

Ten turns his face to the side so he can speak without the words being muffled by the covers. "Yes, Sir."

"Do you remember what it felt like?" Kun asks, running his hand lightly over Ten's backside, across his waist, down the backs of his thighs.

"Yes," Ten says, his voice breathy, his knees starting to shake. "Yes, I do."

"Don't be scared, shh, shh," Kun soothes. "Don't be scared, kitten." He pulls the cane back and taps it against Ten's skin, just underneath the curve of his ass where the muscle is thick and plump. Ten clenches and tightens with a gasp, groaning when Kun trails his fingertips across the point of soft impact. "Shh, relax. Barely even hit you."

Kun can see Ten trying to relax and it fills him with love, and admiration, and pride. Even though this isn’t a punishment, it may feel that way, and he doesn’t want what Ten remembers from this experience to be the pain; he wants it to be of Kun himself and his steady presence, the pillar against which Ten can always find unconditional stability and support. With an exhale, Ten releases the tension in his shoulders, and his body sinks further into the mattress. The muscles of his ass soften. A smile flutters across Kun’s lips.

"Good," Kun praises lightly, patting Ten with his palm. He strokes the cane over the backs of Ten's thighs to signal where he'll be hitting him next and gives Ten a few breaths to stabilize himself. Then Kun draws his arm back and flicks the cane forward through the air, still measured and light, but this time drawing a sound like a rubber band flicked against skin upon impact.

"Ah!" Ten shouts before pushing his face into the covers to stifle his cries, feet kicking into the air. "Ow!"

Kun chuckles and waits for Ten to steady himself, keeping one hand on Ten's waist all the while. He knows the first couple of minutes of play require patience and pacing if it’s to be enjoyable for Ten, as well. 

When Ten's feet are back on the floor, Kun begins to pepper Ten's backside with light, rhythmic taps with the cane, careful and deliberate with his area of focus. "You always take this so well,” Kun praises quietly. He kneads his fingers into Ten's side to keep him grounded, a reminder that Kun’s right here and that they can stop at any moment if Ten feels too uncomfortable, or if it becomes too much. 

Ten whines with each kiss of the cane, sometimes twitching on the bed, sometimes stamping his feet. That he can put on a show like this for Kun right now means the pain is bearable but hot. Stinging. The supple skin of Ten’s ass takes to the cane hungrily, a rosy blush spreading over it like watercolor over a sheet of paper.

Kun grins when Ten begins to push his hips back against the tapping, silently asking for more.

The cane whistles when Kun raises his arm and swings it forward, the sound it makes when it snaps against Ten's skin sharp and ringing. Kun holds the cane against Ten and watches the impact ripple through muscle, knowing that Ten is feeling it deep within his body.

Ten makes a noise like a sob, and when he turns his face to the side again to breathe his eyes are wet, his cheeks glistening. Mouth hanging open dumbly, he coughs out another cry when Kun taps him again with the cane in the same area just under the curve of his ass, gently this time. Ten's sweet spot.

"Have you been bad?" Kun asks him. Another tap.

"Yes, Sir," Ten answers readily, hips moving under the cane. Kun raises his eyebrows. He expected Ten to plead that he’d been good, but he goes along with it. For now.

"How bad?" Twice more, sharper. "Tell me. Confess."

"Very bad," Ten moans, sniffling. "I let someone else into my head. I let him effect me. I let him make me feel bad about myself. But I won't let it happen again. Ah! Please, I won't let it happen again—!"

"That's right, love, you won’t. I know you won’t," Kun says, understanding better where Ten’s head is at and what he needs: absolution. Even if Kun knows that Ten is not to blame for what happened after he met with his client today, Ten needs Kun to release him from the burden of carrying the experience, so he whips him a little harder, encouraging bruises to form and bloom across Ten's skin—they'll serve as small reminders in the coming days—and Ten cries out so beautifully, opens up for Kun like a music box.

Kun marks Ten up with control, keeping a hand on him always, checking that his breaths are still slow and measured. As he watches the red lines form over Ten's ass and the backs of his thighs in the wake of his strikes, Kun waits for the moment that searing, white-hot pain bleeds into pleasure, the moment euphoria takes over.

The moment Ten gives himself over to Kun completely.

He can feel sweat trickling down his temples as the heat rises between their bodies. Ten's panting, his wet breaths mixing with Kun's short grunts, and the condensation of their exhalations mingle with the arousal and humidity rising in the air. Kun’s dick stirs in his satin shorts as Ten's sobbing and pleading become mindless moans.

"Sir...Sir, please..."

Kun pauses on the crest of an inhale and holds the cane over the small of Ten’s back. “Please, what?”

“ _Oh_.” Ten trembles when Kun caresses his backside with his palm, stroking over his heated skin. The repeated impact of the cane has created lines of red welts like rows in a garden, and Kun dips his fingers between these with a ghostly touch, drawing out the burn. “Oh, please, please, please…” Ten mumbles incoherently, pushing himself up onto his toes for purchase to press his ass into Kun’s hand.

“Easy, kitten,” Kun coos, spanking Ten once with his palm and chuckling at the broken, needy whine that falls from Ten’s lips. “What are you begging me for? Hm? For more?”

“Yes, Sir,” Ten pants. 

It’s like someone has reached inside of Kun to twist up his guts when Kun looks up and takes in the expression on Ten’s face: eyes glazed and dark, mouth wet and open, tongue pink and lax. He’s so flushed he looks drugged. His wrists are still locked behind his back but his fingers are limp, curled like flower petals. 

He had asked Ten more than once what submission felt like to him, and Ten had told him this: “Release. Certainty. Hope. Like falling and knowing you’ll never let me hit the ground.” When Ten gives himself over to Kun, he is trusting Kun to give him what he needs. He is trusting Kun with everything.

Kun swallows the knot that has formed in his throat as he thinks about the sacredness of his responsibility, of this pact between them. He will never let Ten fall.

“What is it that you want more of?” he asks, tongue thick in his mouth. He takes up the cane again and strokes it sideways over Ten’s skin, following the sensual dip of the small of his back over the swell of his ass, down the slope of his thighs, then back up again, and down again, slowly and carefully and tenderly. 

Ten pants noisily, and the look in his eyes for Kun is one of pure adoration and need. “ _You_ ,” he says.

Arousal pulses low in Kun’s belly like a warm orb, thick and oozing. He draws the cane back and strikes Ten across the backs of his thighs with a crack, and Ten’s eyelids flutter closed, a breathy sigh falling out of his open mouth. “ _Ah..._ ” he exhales. Each sigh, each moan, is offered up as a prayer as he grinds his hips against the bed. “Ah, ah, ah!”

Ten’s close. Kun doesn’t even have to check between his legs. He can tell by the pitch of his soft, mewling noises, by the thin sheen of sweat glistening over Ten’s entire body, by the rolling of his hips like waves. 

“Don’t hold back, kitten,” Kun encourages quietly, unable to keep the gravel and aching want out of his voice. The muscles of his arms are heavy and tight from the constant, repeated motion. He can feel sweat gathering, pooling at the small of his back. “Come for me.”

The rhythm of the cane against Ten’s skin sounds nothing like the noises of sex, thudding and sharp instead of slapping and wet, yet it makes Kun’s blood rise and buzz like static all the same. He’s hard, thick, and wet. Dripping into his shorts. Ten’s pushing back as though Kun were behind him, pushing back as though Kun were fucking him in long, deep strokes. 

He’s perfect, and he is all Kun’s.

One final strike makes Ten’s hips stutter, and his body tightens suddenly, his breath catching, and Kun holds his own breath in sympathy, eyes wide and unblinking lest he misses a moment of Ten’s climax.

It is beautiful in the way ruined things are. Ten falls apart like a porcelain doll dropped to the ground, shattering and lovely, fragmented and fragile. He is shimmering glass under Kun’s hand. When he sinks into the mattress, boneless and exhausted, so deep in that floaty, ethereal void of his own unique subspace, he looks at Kun and waits for him to piece him back together like Kun is the master craftsman repairing his shape with liquid gold.

Kun places the cane behind him on the bed. He smooths his hand over the hot, tender skin of Ten’s ass with the lightness of a feather, subtly checking Ten over for any broken skin. Some of the welts are burning, angrier than others, but there are no splits. Though Ten has said before that he’d be okay with a little blood, Kun doesn’t need it for himself and they don’t often go that far. 

“You came all over yourself and the towel, kitten,” Kun whispers with awe and appreciation. “So good. So beautiful. Mine.”

“Yours,” Ten sighs. His breath hitches when Kun’s hand runs over a particularly sensitive or sore spot at the tops of his thighs, and when he releases the breath, it is with a whimper.

“Get on your knees, love.”

Ten slides off the towel and bed slowly, as sensual as silk over skin, coming to a rest on his knees before Kun, between Kun’s spread thighs. He sits back on his ankles with a wince when he rests his weight on his heels. Kun’s dick strains against the satin of his shorts, an obvious bulge, but Ten doesn’t even glance at it because Kun hasn’t given him permission yet. Instead, Ten’s eyes are trained on the ground between Kun’s feet.

Kun bites back a hiss when he pulls down the waistband of his shorts and the elastic catches over his hips. He has to lift himself in his seat on the edge of the mattress for a moment to get the clothing past his knees, and he steps out of them once the satin pools on the floor. The air is damp with desire, humid and hot, and his sex is drooling at the tip. “Look at me,” Kun commands.

Ten’s eyelashes flutter as he drags his gaze upwards, looking at Kun with half-lidded eyes, sinking forward to rest his cheek on Kun’s inner thigh when Kun cups his hand around the base of his skull. The heart-shaped tag hanging from the center of Ten’s collar shines prettily in the hollow of his throat. 

“Open your mouth.”

Ten’s lips part immediately, his tongue soft and pink behind his teeth, and Kun reaches forward with his other hand and pries him open with his thumb. When Kun presses _down_ and _in_ , all the way until the heel of his hand begins to force Ten’s jaws wider, Ten gags around his finger just once before adjusting to the intrusion and swallowing, and Kun’s heart rocks in his chest like a ship being ravaged on the sea by a storm. 

He withdraws, his hand shiny with spit, and Ten coughs before laying his cheek atop Kun’s leg and licking his lips hungrily. With the hand cupped around the back of Ten’s neck, Kun draws him into the space between his legs, until Ten’s hot breaths are breaking over his cock. 

“My good kitten,” Kun purrs, pulling, rubbing his thumb over the hinge of Ten’s jaw to coax him open. “Keep looking at me.”

Ten does, his gaze dark and hazy, his lashes wet and glittering. He keeps his eyes trained on Kun’s as Kun pushes the fat head of his dick past his lips into the wet, impossibly hot sleeve of his mouth, as Kun rocks into him so slowly his lower abdomen strains with the effort, as Kun works carefully past the barrier of Ten’s throat. Ten moans long and high, soft muscles and folds fluttering around Kun, and he exhales out of his nose.

Ten’s eyes water as he holds Kun’s gaze. Tears gather and spill from his lash line, glistening, rolling down his cheeks. Kun lets out a bone-deep groan he bottoms out, when the tip of Ten’s nose brushes against the coarse, trimmed hairs at the base of his cock. 

“God, you’re so perfect,” Kun grits through his teeth. 

He rocks his hips in tiny movements, forward and back, forward and back, his hand firm and tight around Ten’s skull, as tears splash down Ten’s face, as drool dribbles down Ten’s chin. He can feel the spasm building in Ten’s body before it surfaces and pulls out right when Ten gags, loud, wretched, drenched. 

Their chests are heaving. Kun, brushing blond hair from Ten’s face as he catches his breath, tells him he can do better. 

“Nnng,” Ten whines, hands coming to rest on Kun’s thighs, and then he hugs his arms as best he can around Kun’s waist and throws himself onto Kun’s cock.

Kun’s head drops back as pleasure races up the length of his spine. He digs his heels into the floor, releasing his grip on Ten and sitting back on his hands. Like this, Ten sets the pace, and then it’s his own choice to swallow Kun down until he chokes.

It doesn’t take long for the pressure to climb. Ten is eager and soft and wet, able to keep Kun down his throat for longer and longer with each stroke. As Kun’s pleasure mounts, Kun floats as though he’s leaped from the top of a very tall cliff, belly swooping, and while he falls his orgasm rushes up to him like the surface of the water below.

He goes under, surrounded by water, and heat, and stars, and his toes curl against the hardwood floors as he empties himself into Ten’s mouth, dick pulsing in time with his heart, fingers tangled through Ten’s hair. His climax brings him to the edge of oblivion, and when he returns to his body, his blood is sizzling, his ears ringing. 

He opens his eyes to Ten blinking furiously and trying so very hard not to gag on the thick length of his cock stretching his lips into a wide ring. Kun curves over Ten, cradling him between his legs and holding his face in his hands, presses his lips to the crown of Ten’s head as Ten swallows and swallows and swallows, throat working. 

“You did well, kitten,” Kun praises, the words sounding like they were punched out of him. He pulls out with a wet squelch and Ten falls forward against Kun’s pelvis, gagging again, chin and chest shiny with a mixture of drool and cum. 

“Thank you, Sir,” Ten rasps, trying to catch his breath. His voice is a thin shadow of itself, and his whole face is slick with tears. He shudders and shivers quietly against Kun’s thigh with his arms limp around Kun’s waist. He is exhausted, spent. 

He is exquisite. 

Kun kisses the top of his head again, trails his fingers over the knobs of his vertebrae between his shoulders as feeling creeps back into his legs and arms. He tugs on the leather collar around Ten’s neck and Ten whimpers, pressing himself closer to Kun’s body.

Hand cupped under Ten’s chin, Kun says, “Let’s get you cleaned up, my love.”

.

Ten has dozed off against Kun’s chest in bed to the soundtrack of _Spirited Away_ , one of his favorite movies, playing on Kun’s phone, after Kun cleaned them both up and massaged lotion and ointment into Ten’s skin, taking great care not to agitate the welts forming on his backside. He had coaxed Ten to finish a whole glass of water while feeding him chocolate candies out of his hand, and now there’s a tiny smear of chocolate at the corner of Ten’s mouth, which is hanging open slightly as he snores. 

“Cute,” Kun whispers to himself. He dabs at the chocolate with his thumb and licks it off his finger, accidentally rousing Ten, whose eyes open unevenly.

“More chocolate,” Ten croaks, sleepy and buzzed on endorphins. Kun feels warm all over at the sight and happily takes up a small handful of candies from the bowl on the nightstand.

“Say _ah_ ,” Kun says.

“Ah,” Ten sighs. He eats a couple more candies one by one, chewing slowly. 

Kun knows he’s running on empty, but that’s exactly what Ten wanted. Before Ten has the chance to fall asleep again, Kun asks, “How are you feeling?”

Ten hums and snuggles closer into Kun like a kitten burrowing into a cozy nest of blankets. “Good,” he says. “Sleepy. Warm.”

“I love you so much, you know that.”

“I know.” The fluttering of Ten’s eyelashes throws shadows against the tops of his cheeks. “I know, and I love you, too. So much.”

“And how’s your ass?” Kun asks.

“Ugh, ask me tomorrow,” Ten whines, flopping his arm over Kun’s shoulder and pushing his face against Kun’s neck. 

Before long, he feels Ten’s body go soft with sleep and closes his eyes, joining him.

.

Kun wakes, well-rested and pleasantly sore, to two eyes peeking out at him from behind fluffy gray covers. He stretches his arms over his head with a satisfying groan. “Morning,” he rasps.

“Morning,” Ten chirps, instantly molding himself to Kun’s side.

Kun’s minimally dressed in boxers, and Kun recalls he’d barely been able to get Ten into a pair of briefs last night, so their legs are warm where they’re twined together under the covers. Kun scrunches down in order to capture Ten’s lips in a kiss, laughing quietly against his mouth when Ten complains. 

“Wait, my mouth tastes like ass!”

“I certainly don’t mind.” Kun pecks him over and over, and gradually Ten acquiesces and accepts the love Kun wants to share with him this morning. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” Ten hums. “Good.” His mouth says the word, but his body is thrumming with nervous energy. Kun waits. Ten continues, “We’re gonna talk about Byunghwan, aren’t we?”

“We don’t have to talk about _him_ , necessarily,” Kun says. “I just want to know how you’re doing, after yesterday. It was a lot, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Ten admits, “and maybe a couple of years ago, I would have let it hurt me more, but now? I’ve learned a lot about myself since then. It’s not going to throw my world off-balance. It scared me yesterday, but I think I can move on.”

Kun’s seen it too, how Ten has grown with Kun, despite Kun, independent of Kun, and how even now, years into their relationship, they’re still learning so much about each other. That _Kun_ gets to be one of the people who gets to see how much Ten thrives under careful, tender, sincere love is something Kun still can’t quite wrap his head around sometimes. 

“You can,” Kun affirms, holding Ten, the shape of him familiar and grounding in his arms.

“I just needed a moment,” Ten whispers, “and you.”

“And you have me,” Kun says, kissing the perfect bow of his lips, “always.”

.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please share your comments and kudos, thank you! 
> 
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